Breakfast at Jack's
by sharim
Summary: Jack has a bad morning. SJ


TITLE: Breakfast at Jack's  
  
AUTHOR: Sharim  
  
EMAIL: misssharim@y...  
  
CATEGORY: Humour, romance  
  
PARINGS: S/J  
  
SPOILERS: Minor for Failsafe  
  
WARNINGS: Fluff warning.  
  
SUMMARY: Jack has a bad morning.  
  
A/N: Complete fluff. You have been warned.  
  
~o0o~  
  
It was the heat that woke him.  
  
Stifling a yawn, Jack threw his arm over his eyes, shielding them  
  
from the glaring rays of light beaming in through his open window.  
  
Sunlight?  
  
Grunting, Jack squinted across at his alarm clock, his eyes widening  
  
as he stared at the time.  
  
10:48am. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept that late.  
  
Deciding that movement was going to take too much effort and  
  
co-ordination, he flopped back into bed, feeling slightly guilty for  
  
being so lazy.  
  
Ah, what the heck, how often did he just lie in bed and do nothing?  
  
How often did he just relax with nothing to bother him-  
  
The shrill ring of his phone intruded rudely on his musings.  
  
"Hey, Jack, it's me."  
  
"Daniel."  
  
He should have known.  
  
"Are you busy?"  
  
Yeah... busy being lazy.  
  
"What's up?"  
  
"Teal'c wants to watch a movie you recommended, but I can't  
  
remember which-"  
  
"Armageddon."  
  
"Armageddon?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
There was silence on the other end of the phoneline.  
  
"Why that?"  
  
Jack sighed. "So he'd get half my jokes about when we were on that  
  
asteroid, Daniel."  
  
"Oh. Thanks Jack."  
  
"Sure."  
  
"You want to come and watch it with us?"  
  
Let's think about that: go watch a movie you've seen before - and  
  
didn't particularly like, ooooor, stay in and do *nothing*.  
  
Except eat.  
  
Yeah. Eating sounded good about now...  
  
"I'm busy."  
  
"I thought you said-"  
  
"I lied."  
  
He heard Daniel sigh. "See you tomorrow, Jack."  
  
"Sure."  
  
He flung his arm out and carelessly pushed the receiver back into  
  
place.  
  
Food. Yes, Stomach was definitely telling him it was time to go and  
  
eat.  
  
Why did it take so much effort to get out of bed? He was telling  
  
himself to get up, *ordering* his legs to move for crying out loud...  
  
but nothing was happening.  
  
Then Bladder started complaining.  
  
Yes. Definitely incentive to get moving.  
  
Ten minutes later saw Jack standing barefoot in his kitchen,  
  
scratching absently at his chest.  
  
What did he want?  
  
Stomach rumbled.  
  
Stomach grumbled.  
  
Yes: eggs, toast and bacon sounded very good. Jack liked  
  
Stomach's taste.  
  
Eggs... eggs in the carton in the fridge...bacon stored in the  
  
freezer... toast... need a toaster...ah ha!... just put that in  
  
there...  
  
place this here... turn that... push that and-  
  
"CRAP!"  
  
Jack stared at the smoking appliance sitting innocently on his  
  
kitchen bench and smoking worse than a chimney. Wow. He'd never  
  
seen a toaster blow up before...  
  
Gingerly he prodded at the silver metal, screwing his nose in  
  
distaste at the distinct scent of burnt electrical wires.  
  
Great. Just great. Now what was he going to do for toast? It wasn't  
  
like he could just bake the bread and...  
  
Hey!  
  
Whistling smugly at his ingenuity, Jack salvaged the two limp pieces  
  
of bread and carefully placed them under the grill in his oven.  
  
Stomach had ordered toast, so toast Stomach would get.  
  
Now... eggs...  
  
Grabbing two and breaking their shells he dropped the yolks into a  
  
hot pan. He could just picture Fraiser's face at the thought of the  
  
cholesterol in this breakfast!  
  
Last order of the day: bacon.  
  
Crouching down on his haunches, Jack rummaged around in the  
  
bottom drawer of his freezer. He had some in there, he was sure of  
  
it. He still remembered throwing the packet in on his last down time  
  
and-  
  
He banged his head painfully against a corner as the phone rang  
  
again. Rising up to his feet and staggering blindly towards the  
  
phone, his arm accidentally sent the carton with the remaining four  
  
eggs crashing to the ground.  
  
"Oh... for crying out loud!...Yeah, O'Neill here."  
  
"Jack, Teal'c says he's seen Armageddon and that it's not the one  
  
you were talking about."  
  
What?  
  
"Daniel?"  
  
"Jack?"  
  
"Are you *trying* to ruin my morning?"  
  
"I... what?"  
  
"Never mind. What does Teal'c say about the movie?"  
  
"It is - and to quote - `very voluptuous'. Jack, what are you getting  
  
him to watch?"  
  
"Oh, that. Does he even know what voluptuous means...?"  
  
"His definitions included `extravagent, profuse and luxurious.' He is  
  
`most intrigued by how a movie could be voluptous.' Jack, you're not  
  
showing him porn are you?"  
  
"Of course not!" Jack was offended.  
  
"So which movie is it?"  
  
"The one where the guy steals the cars, I forget the name."  
  
"Gone in 60 seconds?"  
  
"That's the one."  
  
"Why can't you let him watch something deeper, something with a  
  
plot?" Daniel complained.  
  
"Why don't *you* take over his Earth Education then?" Jack  
  
retorted. "I gotto go, Daniel, my eggs are whistling at me."  
  
"Your what are what?" Jack could almost see Daniel's eyes popping  
  
out of his head.  
  
"My eggs. They're whistling. In the pan..."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"I gotto go, Daniel."  
  
"Okay. Bye Jack."  
  
"Bye."  
  
Running back to his pan while dodging eggshell and eggslime, Jack  
  
glared down at the eggs shrivelling up in the pan. Yuck... Still, he  
  
had no other eggs left so these would have to do.  
  
Now for that bacon...  
  
He almost screamed in frustration as the doorbell rang.  
  
"Just a minute!" he yelled, thrusting the blackened pan to one side  
  
and turning off the plate. Couldn't have the house burning down  
  
while he was talking to the Avon lady.  
  
He yanked his door open to reveal one very surprised and  
  
somewhat embarrassed Carter.  
  
Carter?  
  
What the hell was she doing on his doorstep this time of day?  
  
"Carter?"  
  
"Uh... I've got some papers for you from General Hammond, Sir."  
  
What happened to down time?  
  
"Couldn't this wait?" he snapped, shifting his weight from one bare  
  
foot to the other.  
  
Bare feet.  
  
He frowned.  
  
Oh, crap. No wonder Carter was embarrassed; he was still in his  
  
boxers. Only his boxers. And the *whole* neighbourhood could see  
  
him. He glared across at Mrs. Gregson across the road, knowing she  
  
was spying on him again. That woman would have thrived in the  
  
cold war...  
  
"Come in, Carter."  
  
"Uh..., no, it's okay, Sir."  
  
"Carter," he sighed, opening the door and motioning her in  
  
impatiently.  
  
This would give Mrs. Gregson and her gang of single ladies  
  
something to talk about for weeks. He'd be willing to bet the phone  
  
lines were already ringing hot.  
  
"I'm busy making breakfast," he explained, leading the way into his  
  
kitchen.  
  
"Breakfast?" She sounded a little amused.  
  
"Yeah...I..."  
  
"Is that smoke?" Carter asked cautiously.  
  
"It can't be, I turned the stove off," he shook his head, frowning.  
  
But he could smell smoke. Very strongly.  
  
His eyes widened.  
  
"CRAP!"  
  
Thick billows of black smoke were issuing from his grill. The toast.  
  
The damn toast! He sprinted over, skidding on cold eggslime before  
  
he grabbed hold of the tray and yanked it open to reveal two small  
  
fireballs cheerfully burning on his grill tray.  
  
Grabbing the nearest cloth he tried to smother the flames.  
  
The cloth caught on fire.  
  
And then there was water everywhere.  
  
He looked up to see Carter innocently holding a large jug and trying  
  
not to grin.  
  
He scowled darkly at her. "It's not funny, Carter."  
  
And she grinned at him openly. "Oh yes it is. You're even worse in  
  
the kitchen than I am."  
  
And surveying the disaster zone - one exploded toaster, one freezer  
  
half unpacked on the ground, a carton of broken eggs now  
  
successfully smeared halfway around his kitchen, two burnt eggs  
  
and two bundles of sopping ash that used to be bread - he had to  
  
agree with her.  
  
He wasn't even going to *try* and cook the bacon.  
  
Stomach was just going to have to be satisfied with frootloops.  
  
"Sit down, Sir."  
  
He glanced at Carter. "Carter?"  
  
"Sit down. I'll make you some pancakes."  
  
"You?" he almost snorted.  
  
"Hey, I'm not the one who destroyed my kitchen trying to make  
  
toast and eggs."  
  
"And bacon," he added airly. "And it's not destroyed, it's just..."  
  
She grinned.  
  
"Do you have anymore eggs?"  
  
"No."  
  
"I've been shopping. I'll be right back."  
  
He sat silently on the chair, feeling very much like a little boy  
  
who'd  
  
just gotten in trouble.  
  
He kept quiet as she came back in and set herself up, rummaging  
  
through his cupboards - bare as they were - to find his last vestiges  
  
of flour and sugar and goodness knew what else to expertly whip  
  
together a stack of pancakes.  
  
"You going to join me?" he offered hopefully.  
  
Surprisingly hopefully.  
  
He shouldn't be making offers like that. Hell, she shouldn't be  
  
cooking him breakfast while he was still sitting in only his boxers.  
  
"Sure," she grinned at him, grabbing another plate, knife and fork.  
  
And there they were, him on one side and her on the other with a  
  
stack of pancakes separating them.  
  
She smiled shyly. "Dig in."  
  
And he did, with relish.  
  
"These are good," he managed through a mouthful.  
  
She grinned at him. "My grandma taught me. Other than coffee, it's  
  
all I can cook."  
  
"Coffee and pancakes. That's my kind of meal," he nodded. "Marry  
  
me."  
  
Okay, so where had *that* come from?  
  
She choked on her pancake and it splattered across the bench,  
  
narrowly missing him and his plate.  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
He swallowed deliberately. Joke. Turn it into a joke...  
  
"Marry me."  
  
That wasn't a joke.  
  
"Okay."  
  
Neither was that.  
  
He choked on his pancake, sending it spraying all over her and her  
  
pancakes.  
  
"Well. This is romantic," she said eventually.  
  
He just stared at her.  
  
So what the hell had just happened? Sam Carter had just agreed to  
  
marry him?  
  
"Are you serious?" he demanded.  
  
"Of course I'm not," she shook her head, and his heart stopped  
  
beating. "Romantic is candles and wine and music..."  
  
"You want that?" he asked hesitantly.  
  
She grinned. "What, and miss having you spit pancake all over me?  
  
No way."  
  
He placed the last forkful into his mouth, studying her intently while  
  
chewing. She flushed slightly under his scrutiny, suddenly uncertain.  
  
"Are you serious?" he asked again, softly.  
  
She hesitated. "Yes."  
  
"So...what, we're engaged then?"  
  
"I think so," she frowned. "Are you serious?"  
  
"You know me, not a funny bone in my body."  
  
"That was really lame, Sir, even for you."  
  
They were silent then, the stillness stretching awkwardly between  
  
them.  
  
"You do realise we can't do anything about it?" he asked suddenly.  
  
"I know."  
  
"And we can't tell anyone."  
  
"I know."  
  
"You're willing to wait?" he asked softly.  
  
She grinned at him. "Yes. You?"  
  
He placed his knife and fork together and stretched on his chair.  
  
"Course I am. You know me, the epitome of patience."  
  
She snorted.  
  
"Seriously, Carter, I can wait for you," he said quietly, her eyes  
  
burning into his as he gazed across the empty plates towards her.  
  
She smiled, standing up and gathering the plates. "I guess we have  
  
an agreement then, Sir."  
  
"I guess we do," he agreed, standing up and taking the plates from  
  
her. "And you do realise it involves pancakes and coffee every  
  
morning."  
  
She raised an eyebrow, and then smiled sweetly. "And it involves  
  
dishes being done every morning as well."  
  
He stared at her for a second, and then grinned. "Deal."  
  
"Deal."  
  
"Shake on it?"  
  
Silently and solemnly she reached over and shook his hand.  
  
"Well. Guess I'll see you at work tomorrow then, Carter."  
  
"Yes, Sir. I put the papers on the hall desk," she added.  
  
He nodded.  
  
"I'll see myself out, Sir."  
  
"Okay. Bye, Carter."  
  
He watched as she disappeared into the hallway, and then grinned  
  
to himself as he surveyed the devastated kitching.  
  
It hadn't been such a bad day after all.  
  
Now all he had to do was clean up and things would be perfect.  
  
His foot slipped on an egg, and he crashed to the ground.  
  
Almost perfect at any rate.  
  
END 


End file.
